Sagging verses of the dead man's past drift aimlessly over
the peaks and valleys of her soul.
"Break my bones but not my mind,"
she pleads - no, whispers.
And now she cries
for revolutionaries deem her spirit weak and body fragile
in its current state of civil war.
Forgive me while I bathe in ice cubes
and brace my back against the wall.
The smokey glow grows weak, is thrown down
on shadowy depths of the concrete floor.
"Give me peace, no, bring me comfort"
in the form of coke and gasoline.
But before we dance upon the ashes...
I learned of saints and sinners from Elizabeth's ghost
and the truth about life versus living from Foreman's wrench.
Yet tomorrow's sunrise left soldiers
blinking at the pain in numbers
printed on fragile forearms and bright red shadows
singing lullabies.